


he touched me, so I live to know

by glittering_git



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Angst, Asexual Harry Potter, Demisexual Draco Malfoy, Falling In Love, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Issues with Touch, M/M, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Referenced Bullying, Sectumsempra Scene | Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's Duel in the Bathroom, Touch-Starved Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: Five times Harry Potter is unsure about touching someone and one time he isn’t.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 53
Kudos: 442
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	he touched me, so I live to know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xanthippe74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/gifts).



> For Prompt #[35](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).
> 
> When I found out that this was your prompt, xanth, I was over-the-moon excited! You are such a brilliant writer and friend, and I’m glad I could write this for you! I took the prompt in a slightly different direction, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless <3 Thank you to my outstanding beta, M, for helping me put this fic together. Thanks L for the final check to make sure everything was sparkling. Thank you to the wonderful H/D Fan Fair mods for all of their hard work, and for being kind enough to grant me an extension. It was such a joy to write for this fest! 
> 
> Title is from Emily Dickinson’s poem of the same name.
> 
> Parts of the first two scenes are taken directly from the Harry Potter books. These lines are italicized. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_An ordinary hand -- just lonely_  
_for something to touch_  
_that touches back._  
_The Touch_ by Anne Sexton

1.

Harry has always felt _different_ , not least because Dudley is always pointing it out to him, commenting on his ratty clothes or his untidy hair or the scar that zigzags across his forehead, often punctuating these statements with his fists. He’s always careful to leave Harry’s face alone, because the one time he’d left bruises there, Vernon had had a stern talking with him. Harry had thought that might be the end of serving as Dudley’s punching bag, but, well, he knew deep in his heart that it was only wishful thinking. Vernon was even worse than Dudley, sometimes using a paddle or even his belt to make sure Harry knew exactly where he belonged.

Harry doesn’t blame them, not really. He’s just an 11-year-old boy who’s practically useless. He has no money; he can’t work. He can’t even cook or clean as well as the Dursleys demand. He only has some hazy memories of a bright green flash and arms clutching him tightly. But that doesn’t make sense because the Dursleys told him that his parents were nobodies who died in a car crash.

But Harry’s not one to dwell on all the strange things that happen in his life.

When Hagrid shows up at his door with his pink umbrella, Harry thinks at first that he must be dreaming. But he quickly realizes that this is _real_ and that magic exists. That _he_ has magic. In a world filled with magic, the Dursleys’ treatment of him doesn’t seem to matter so much. Not if he might be able to _use_ it to defend himself.

But the boy he meets in the robe shop isn't that different from Dudley, with all his talk of the _other_ sort and the “predominance of old wizarding families,” whatever that meant. But Hagrid has been so wonderful, so Harry still believes that there are kind witches and wizards.

On the train to Hogwarts, Harry manages to find one such wizard. Although Ron is one of those old wizarding families that the boy in the robe store had mentioned, he is the complete opposite. While the boy in the robe shop had been quick to turn his nose up at the mention of these mysterious _others_ , Ron doesn’t seem bothered. He’s even embarrassed that he can't afford an owl, which Harry doesn’t see as a problem. He tells Ron about how he only wears Dudley’s clothes, even though they’re three sizes too big and made everyone at school laugh at him even more.

When the trolley witch comes by, Harry is so excited to be able to share with his new friend that he buys one of everything she has to offer. He’s immediately overwhelmed by the sheer variety. Ron laughs at the expression that must be on Harry’s face and begins naming each and every treat, and Harry smiles, knowing for sure that he’s found one of the good wizards.

But then that boy from the robe shop comes back.

_“My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”_

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that,” Harry cries out, standing up to defend his new friend from this bully who is no different than Dudley.

_“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”_

The boy holds out his hand for Harry, but Harry doesn’t want to shake it. He is reminded of all the times that Dudley would knock him over and then offer his hand, only to push him down again. If he gives him that power, Harry knows that this boy will do the same in a heartbeat.

And he doesn’t like bullies very much.

_“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”_

A pink blush crawls up the boy’s cheeks, and Harry can tell that he’s embarrassed. Good. Maybe that’ll show him not to bully Harry or his friends.

_“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he says slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either.”_

Harry’s just about had it with Malfoy. Who is he to tell Harry who he can and can’t be friends with? Who is he to insult Harry’s parents as if he knew them? No. He won’t be taking any more from Malfoy.

“If you don’t shut up right now, Malfoy, you’re going to regret it,” Harry threatens, exhilarated. He thinks back on all the times that he’d wanted to stand up to Dudley, but couldn’t, because Dudley had had too many friends or Petunia and Vernon would have seen, but now… Now, he has _magic_ and a friend. He’s invincible.

2.

When Harry finds Malfoy crying in a bathroom, he snaps.

What right does Malfoy have to cry over his fate? Not after all the pain he’s caused innocent students. Not after he’s done Voldemort’s bidding. Bullies like him don’t deserve to cry about the harm they’ve caused.

_I can’t do it… It won’t work...he says he’ll kill me.”_

“Boo hoo,” Harry drawls, wand drawn. Malfoy snaps his head up, meeting Harry’s gaze in the mirror. His eyes are cold and hard, and something in Harry sparks at that. If Malfoy wants a fight, Harry’ll be glad to give it to him.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Malfoy says, bringing a hand up to wipe away his tears. He uses the sink to lever himself up and turns to face Harry directly, wand raised.

“Poor little Draco Malfoy, crying alone in a bathroom because Daddy told him to torture innocent children.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter,” Malfoy spits, moving slowly towards where Harry stands by the door. Harry doesn’t move. Malfoy continues his advance, not stopping until he’s crowding Harry against the doorjamb.

“I find that I don’t really care for an explanation from the likes of _you_.” Harry moves his wand to Malfoy’s shoulder and pushes none too gently to emphasise his point. Malfoy’s features turn into a snarl, and Harry’s blood sings. This is what he’s been waiting for, a chance to let go of the tension that he’s been carrying and put Malfoy in his place.

Malfoy raises his arm and shoves Harry’s wand away, stepping back and pointing his own directly at Harry’s face. “ _Stupefy_.”

Before Malfoy has finished casting, Harry’s body is already moving to the left, a shield charm falling from his lips with practiced ease. He retaliates with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, but Malfoy moves too fast.

Somewhere in the background, Myrtle is wailing and begging them to stop, but Harry’s not paying attention to her.

Malfoy returns with a Full Body-Bind Curse, but Harry dashes just in time to avoid the well-aimed spell.

“ _Tarantallegra,_ ” Harry shouts, but his spell misses and hits the bathroom pipes instead, causing them to start dancing and spraying water everywhere. Harry rushes towards Malfoy again, another spell on his lips, but he slips on the wet floor and crashes on his face. He pushes himself onto his back so he can see Malfoy, cursing his rotten luck.

Malfoy is standing over him, wand pointing directly at his heart. “ _Cruc—_

“ _SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellows Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly._ Immediately, blood starts rushing from Malfoy’s chest and he _staggers backward and collapses onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand._

Harry doesn’t know what happened. One minute Malfoy was up on his feet and fighting him, and now he’s lying on his back on the cold, wet tile. Harry _plunges towards Malfoy, whose face is now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest_. He tries to put his hands on the wounds to close them, but there’s so much blood. His hands are dripping with Malfoy’s blood, and Harry can’t breathe.

He didn’t think it was possible for his hands to cause this kind of pain. He wasn’t Dudley—he didn’t find joy in hurting others. He’d just wanted to scare Malfoy a bit, and the Prince’s book had said it was _for enemies_. He’d never have used the spell if he’d known what it would do.

He’d never have done it. He wishes desperately he could undo it. He puts his hands back on Malfoy’s chest and futilely holds them over the wounds, praying to anyone listening for some kind of miracle.

Myrtle is screaming, “Murder! Murder! Murder in the bathroom!”

And then Snape is suddenly there, shoving Harry’s hands away from Malfoy’s chest and repeating over and over, “What did you do, Potter? What _did you do?_ ”

Harry can’t answer him. He’s staring at his hands, at the _blood stains floating like crimson flowers_ and wanting to retch.

In another world, Snape begins to heal Malfoy in earnest.

Harry wouldn’t have used the spell if he’d known. He’d never cast a spell like that, _never_ , not even for enemies. He’s not a monster.

He looks at his blood-stained hands again. They tell a different story.

3.

Harry is nervous, and the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor are only making him more so. He wraps his coat a bit tighter and sends his Patronus to let Malfoy know that he’s there.

With a creak and a groan, the gates swing open. Harry steps through and continues along the wide pathway towards the front door. The grounds are beautiful, and Harry has to stop himself from lingering too long in the shade of an oak tree or admiring the white peacocks.

When he reaches the front door, Malfoy is standing there, glaring at him. Harry does his best to remain civil, which is surprisingly easy to do when he takes a good look at Malfoy.

Malfoy doesn’t look good—worse even than sixth year, and he looked pretty bad then. He’s too thin and his cheeks are sallow, but his eyes are still so bright with fury. Something in Harry lights up at that.

“The great Harry Potter,” Malfoy sneers, his features twisting into a mean scowl. “How nice of you to grace our home with your presence.”

“You invited me here, you prat.” Harry was perfectly content to live his life without a certain blond git. It might have been a lackluster life, true, but he would’ve managed just fine.

“That was Mother.” Malfoy sighs, and the fight leaves him like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “You might as well come in.” He steps back from the entryway, gesturing Harry in with a broad wave of his hand.

Harry gingerly takes a step forward, half expecting harsh wards to prevent him from entering. When nothing happens as he steps through, he stands up straighter, more confident that Malfoy won’t be sending a stray hex his way.

“If you’ll just follow me through here,” Malfoy indicates, looking a bit like he’s sucking on an incredibly sour lemon. “Mother has set up a full tea service.”

“How kind of her.”

“There’s no need to mock, Potter.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry insists, bringing his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. He really wasn’t, even if it looks like Malfoy barely believes him. Narcissa Malfoy saved his life—he would never mock her.

Malfoy continues to look sceptical, but quickly turns away to lead Harry through the decrepit Manor. Even though Voldemort is gone, his magic has left a visible stain. The once grand foyer and drawing room look like nothing more than a run-down Travelodge—the gold filigree wallpaper stripped, the curtains torn, and the furniture covered in rips and tears.

Malfoy seems to be embarrassed about the state of the Manor, the colour high on his cheeks, but doesn’t say anything to Harry. Harry almost wishes that he would. Then he’d have something else to focus on rather than the fact that some of his worst memories had happened there.

Once they pass through the drawing room, they reach a room that is much less extravagant. If it were anywhere else but Malfoy Manor, Harry would even go so far as to say it was cosy.

Narcissa Malfoy rises from a plush armchair to greet them, extending her right hand gracefully. It feels a bit strange to shake her hand, but Harry does so without hesitation.

“Harry Potter, how very nice of you to join us this afternoon.”

“You did invite me.” Harry chuckles a bit nervously. “But thank you, Mrs Malfoy.”

“Please.” Mrs Malfoy holds up a single finger in protest. “I insist that you call me Narcissa.”

“Narcissa, then. Thank you.”

She smiles softly at him and gestures grandly at the green sofa behind Harry. “Please do take a seat.”

He does, and then tries to find an appropriate place to put his hands. The Dursleys certainly did not prepare him for how to behave in polite company. Harry ignores the snide looks that Malfoy is giving him, sitting so elegantly on a pouffe with one long leg crossed over the other, both hands folded demurely in his lap. _At least I’m not on house arrest,_ Harry thinks meanly.

“I asked you here because I thought it would be a good chance for you boys to talk.”

At Malfoy’s sound of protest, Narcissa reaches one hand out and lays it gently on his knee. “I know I raised you to behave better than that, Draco dear. And besides, I think Mr Potter has brought you something that you are sorely missing.” Narcissa turns and offers a small smile to Harry.

Harry reaches into the pocket of his Muggle jeans and slowly pulls out Malfoy’s wand, its shape familiar between his fingers. As much as he knows the wand isn’t his, he feels a certain fondness for it—it did help him defeat Voldermort, after all.

He stands up and walks the few short steps to where Malfoy is sitting by his mother, the wand held lightly in his grasp.

When Malfoy holds his hand out expectantly, Harry is transported back to a train and a different handshake altogether. By the gleam in Malfoy’s eyes, Harry can tell that he is also remembering. He places the wand in Malfoy’s grasp, and Malfoy takes it with a whispered _thank you_.

Harry hopes this can be the start of something new.

4.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Draco asks, squinting at the bright sun as he comes out of the Haven meeting.

“Yeah, I’ve just been waiting for you.” Harry can’t help smiling at Draco, even though it’s been not ten minutes since he last saw him.

“Sorry, Alice just had a few questions. And since she’s new, I wanted to make sure she felt welcome.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harry assures. “I remember what it was like to be new.” The first time that he’d attended a Haven meeting, he’d been way out of his depths. Surprisingly, it was a familiar blond-haired prat who’d managed to make him feel welcome, despite their history. As Draco liked to say, there wasn’t a lot to do but think during two years of house arrest. He’d realised two important things: one, he’d been a bit of a twat back at Hogwarts, and two, he wasn’t as interested in sex as he’d pretended to be. It was the second realization that had been harder to process, as no one he knew felt the same way. So when his house arrest had ended, Draco had buried himself in research, much like he had at Hogwarts. He’d not found much in wizarding texts, so had tentatively branched out into Muggle ones. In doing this research, he’d started to meet others who felt similar. They’d started a support group, and well, the rest was history.

“But look at how far you’ve come,” Draco says, stepping further onto the pavement and turning to motion to Harry and the old warehouse where Haven held their meetings.

“I don’t know if it would have been possible without you,” Harry admits. Draco’s soft smile in return says everything, and he holds his arm out for Harry to take. Harry does so, and they walk around the corner of the building and into the alley so that they can Apparate.

They land in the Malfoy gardens with a loud pop, and Harry has to steady himself on Draco’s arm. Apparition has never gotten any easier for him, no matter how many times he does it. When the roiling sensation in his stomach has a chance to settle, Harry looks around them in awe.

The Malfoy gardens have always been beautiful—the bright colours of the hollyhock and delphiniums standing out amongst the sea of green, Narcissa’s careful touch evident in every bloom—but they’re truly stunning tonight. Floating fairy lights drift in the tree branches, casting everything in a soft, warm glow. An elaborate spread of various cheeses and meats is laid out on a small table next to a cosy seating area, where soft cushions are laid out on a checkered blanket. And to top it all off, there’s Draco, holding out his hand for Harry to take.

“You did all of this _for me_?” Harry’s never really had someone in his life who’d do something like this for him. Hermione and Ron were great friends, but for obvious reasons, they'd never planned a twilight picnic for him. And Ginny, bless her heart, would much rather be playing a twilight game of Quidditch than having a romantic picnic.

“Of course, Harry,” Draco assures, the certainty in his voice like a balm to Harry’s frayed nerves. “I simply want to give you all that you deserve, to show you how much you mean to me.” Draco’s words give Harry the last push he needs to reach out and take his hand.

It’s not that he’s never held someone’s hand before, because he certainly has, but it’s the fact that he’s never done it because _he_ wanted to. He only ever did it before because he thought that it was what was expected of him. Harry finds it’s not as hot or sweaty as it’d been in the past, Draco’s palm smooth and cool in his. Draco’s fingers curl around Harry’s and slowly pull Harry to the ground, where they sit side by side and simply hold hands.

Harry squeezes Draco’s hand and can’t help the thrill that runs through him when Draco returns the gesture. He’s been slowly realising that hands—and touch—can be good things, things that he might even want, even if he has yet to find the words to ask for them.

5.

“I’m so happy for you, Harry,” Hermione says gently, nudging his arm. She’s following his gaze, which is unsurprisingly on Draco, lounging elegantly in a soft armchair by the fire, the flames casting his face in a warm glow.

Harry pulls his gaze away, looks down into his glass and upon finding it empty, Summons the entire bottle of elf-made red. “Do you want a top-up, Hermione?” he asks, not ignoring her, but needing a bit more liquid courage to have this conversation.

“Please,” she responds, holding her glass for him to fill.

Glasses filled, Harry turns to face Hermione on the couch. “He makes me happy,” he says simply.

“I can tell. I’m so thankful that Haven was helpful…” she trails off, giving him one of her famous _looks_. “To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure that it would be. I hadn’t attended myself, but all the research I’d done had pointed to it being quite useful for you.”

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Harry reassures her. “You don’t have to have all the answers. And besides, you helped Gin and me figure out what wasn’t working in our relationship and for that, well, I think we both owe you.”

She brushes him off with a wave. “I simply did what any friend with my knowledge would’ve done. You were both so unhappy.” She falls silent, and they both remember those last few, terrible weeks of Harry and Ginny’s relationship. They’d both been so miserable, but hadn’t known how to fix things.

“Thanks to you, we both were able to find happiness with other people.”

“So it seems things are going well between you and Draco.”

“Yeah, things are really good. It’s nice to be with someone who just _gets it_ , you know?” Harry knows that he can’t keep the fondness from his voice. “Like I don’t have to be anything more than who I am—I don’t have to pretend with him.”

“Oh, Harry,” she says gently, laying one hand lightly on his arm. Harry can hear the pity in her voice, but he finds that he isn’t as bothered by it as he used to be. Sometimes, it is shitty being Harry Potter, having to be the perfect Golden Boy for everyone in the goddamn world. But not with Draco. Never with Draco.

“Things are better with him,” Harry says, smiling as a slightly inebriated Draco makes his way over to them.

“Talking about me, my love?”

Harry can’t help the flush that covers his cheeks at the endearment. “No, just chatting about Haven.”

“I came over here to ask if you were ready to go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow and I’m a bit sloshed.” Draco emphasizes this fact by swaying a bit over Harry, and Harry hastily sets his glass on the floor and stands to support him. “My knight in shining armour,” Draco says as Harry slides one arm around his waist.

“I’ll let you two go,” Hermione says graciously. “Thank you both for joining us for dinner tonight.”

Harry smiles at her and ushers Draco out the door. When the cold air hits them as they step outside, Draco curls closer to Harry. “It’s cold, Potter.”

“I’m taking you home,” Harry assures, tugging Draco closer and closing his eyes, Apparating them to Draco’s Chelsea flat.

They arrive in Draco’s sitting room, dark except for the moonlight streaming through the open window. Draco immediately steps away from Harry and sinks into the couch, flopping onto his back in a way that he only ever does when he drinks.

Harry doesn’t really mind. Draco is softer like this, still high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, but more approachable, less guarded. He holds his arms up and asks, “Will you cuddle with me?”

Harry pauses, but just for a second. He and Draco have never cuddled before, but Harry finds that he wants to be held—that he craves it, even. Especially when he knows that nothing more than what he wants, what he offers, will happen. Draco is hyper aware of Harry’s boundaries, and it’s this understanding that draws him to the couch.

Draco’s soft smile widens as Harry approaches, and he wedges his body into the back of the couch, turning onto his side and making room for Harry. Harry’s heart is pounding, but he’s not scared—he’s excited about the prospect of having something he so desperately wants but didn’t know how to ask for. He sits on the edge of the couch and slowly lays down on his side, and even though there are still a few centimetres separating him from Draco, he can feel the heat from Draco’s body.

Sensing his brief hesitancy, Draco carefully wraps one arm loosely around him, bringing his hand to rest over Harry’s heart. It’s the way that Draco is always so careful, even when he’s a bit sloshed, that gives Harry the confidence to move back so that he and Draco are pressed flush. Draco’s arm tightens, making Harry feel warm and safe. He can’t help the soft sigh that escapes his lips.

“Knew you’d like this,” Draco mumbles into Harry’s neck.

“How did you know?” Harry asks, just as softly.

“You’re not good at asking for what you want, usually, but you’re especially bad when it comes to the matter of touch.”

Harry feels like the breath has been knocked out of his chest. He knows that he has major issues around touch, and specifically the idea that touch can be nonviolent, but he’s never had someone so blatantly say it to his face. Hermione and Ron had both tried to have careful conversations with him in the past, but he hadn’t been receptive to it, and they’d quickly backed off.

“It’s because of your shitty Muggle family,” Draco continues.

Harry starts to protest, but Draco cuts him off.

“No, no. I know not _all_ Muggles are shitty, but your family certainly was.” Harry can’t argue with that. Draco squeezes him gently. “I’ve been keeping a list, you know.”

“A list?” Harry’s no longer phased by Draco’s non sequiturs.

“Uhmmm hmm.” Harry can feel Draco nod. “ _All the ways Harry Potter likes to be touched: a comprehensive study by Draco Malfoy,_ ” he says a bit smugly.

Harry finds that he can’t speak, for some odd reason.

“You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just know that I know _you_ , Harry Potter, and I will do anything to make you happy, even if you don’t know how to ask for it.”

+1

Harry’s been doing a lot of thinking, and he finally feels ready. He knows that it’s not a big deal for other people, knows that he’s even done it with Ginny before, but that was different. It’d never been something he _wanted_ to do, but something he felt like he _should_ do.

But he and Draco don’t have room for _shoulds_ in their relationship. And Harry _wants_ this. Wants this more than maybe anything else that he’s ever wanted. And that terrifies him.

But, then again, Draco Malfoy has been at the centre of his most terrifying and most vulnerable moments, from two boys on a train to two boys in a bathroom, the whole weight of the world on their shoulders. So maybe it’s less of a surprise and more of a natural outcome, all things being what they were.

But maybe that wasn’t giving either of them enough credit. They’d both grown and changed after the war—they’d had to, to survive. And maybe what they had now wouldn’t have been possible ten years ago, but then again, ten years ago, Harry could not have imagined having _this_.

Harry is sitting on a fluffy beach towel watching Draco cut an elegant figure through the sea spray. People often found it strange that Draco was so comfortable in the water, but Harry was never that surprised. The Slytherin dormitories were under water, for Merlin’s sake.

Draco makes his way to the shore and gracefully stands up, shaking the water out of his hair like a very elegant Crup. Harry would never dare to make the comparison to his face, but it’s true nonetheless. Harry had won the argument about going to a Muggle or wizarding beach, so Draco can’t use a quick drying charm and instead has to dry off the Muggle way.

Harry holds up a striped beach towel as Draco strides towards him, smiling when he accepts it with a huff. “If we’d just gone to a wizarding beach, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense,” Draco says as he dries himself with the towel. Once he’s finished, his hair now looking more like Harry’s bird’s nest, he motions for Harry to move over so that he can sit down.

“But we couldn’t do this at a wizarding beach,” Harry counters, gently grabbing Draco’s chin and turning it so that he’s now staring deep into Draco’s slate-grey eyes. He leans in closer, so close that their noses are almost touching. He can feel every puff of Draco’s breath on his lips, and it’s as easy as breathing to close the scant centimetres between them and press their lips together in a chaste kiss.

When they part for breath, Draco whispers, “Are you sure about this?”

“You can add it to your list,” Harry promises with a soft smile. “Harry Potter is always willing to accept kisses from Draco Malfoy.”

It’s Draco who kisses Harry this time. Draco’s lips are cold and chapped from the salt water, but Harry doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are ♥
> 
> I love making new friends on [Tumblr](http://glittering-git.tumblr.com/) and [Dreamwidth](https://glittering-git.dreamwidth.org/)!


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